Mystery Of The Sea Horse (7 page)

Jerking the man roughly to his feet, Danton told him, "You were hired, Hugo, because of a reputed ability to clobber others. I must say I—"

"He had something in his hand," complained Hugo, rubbing his injured jaw. "He must of had a sackful of nickels or a pair of knucks or something. Because it sure as hell felt like it."

"He wasn't carrying a sack of nickels when I

saw him last, Hugo." Danton strode off in the direction of his house.

Trotting after him, Hugo said, "Well, he left a funny mark on my face. You don't do that with your bare hands." He was rubbing his fingertips over his cheek. "Feels like some kind of funny drawing or . . ."

"What?" Danton stopped. He pulled out his cigarette lighter and flicked it on.

"Right there, see? It feels like I been tattooed." Hugo poked a finger at his injured face.

"Ah," said Danton, studying the mark the Phantom had left on his henchman's face. "This confirms what I suspected earlier." *

"What is it?"

"Over in Bangalla, they call it the Sign of the Skull."

Hugo scowled, rubbing hard at the skull mark. "That don't sound so good. Is it some kind of disease I caught?"

Danton smiled. "It's the trademark of our late visitor," he said. "He's known as the Phantom."

"The Phantom? Never heard of him."

"Nor is it likely you'll hear of him again," Danton assured him. "And yet . . . they do say he can never die."

"This is all getting to sound very spooky." Hugo dropped back, started off toward the side of the villa.

Chuckling, Danton walked on into his giant house. "I wonder now how true all the tales about the Phantom are."

"Hey, boss," called a guard from the other end of the hall. This was the man the Phantom had felled on his way out.

"What is it, Steranko?"

"That guy in the funny costume who came bar-

reling out of here a while back," said Steranko moving toward his employer. "He socked me in the mouth and you know what it left on my face? I was just looking in the mirror and—"

"A skull sign, yes," answered Danton.

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

Danton stepped into the library and shut the door. "I'm absolutely certain they're both dead," he said as he crossed to the phone. "I don't want to let myself be hoodooed by a bunch of native superstitions, but it won't hurt to be absolutely sure in this case." He dialed a mainland number.

Laura, the red-haired girl, lived in a small rented cottage quite near the ocean. Her favorite room was the yellow-and-white kitchen. At the moment she was in there, indulging in her most recent hobby of pastry-making. She often fooled around in the kitchen like this late at night when she couldn't sleep.

She was sifting flour into a bowl with a pale- blue stripe around it when the phone began to ring, "in a minute," she said in the direction of the wall.

The tan wall phone went on ringing while she set down the sifter, and wiped her hands on the backside of her tight blue-denim slacks.

On the eleventh ring, she picked up the instrument and said, "This is an ungodly hour."

"Did I awaken you, little Laura?"

"We never sleep," she answered. "I'm getting flour all over everything, damn."

Danton said, "Get all the whimsy out of your system as soon as you can. I have something serious to discuss."

"Fire away," said the redhead.

"Perhaps," said Danton, "I'm being overly cau

tious. Yet I feel that I've built my various successes out of a careful and cautious approach."

"You're about as cautious as Jean LaFitte," she said. "What's the trouble now, Chris?"

"You recall my weekend guest?"

"Miss Sweetness and Light, sure. How's she get- ling along?"

Danton said, "I'm afraid she's passed away."

"That's too bad."

"However, the thought occurs to me that, she may not have," said Danton. "It's a very remote possibility. Still. . ."

"You want me to check something out for you?"

"Yes, little Laura," said Danton. "You might watch her place of residence and determine whether she returns to the living."

"I understand," said Laura.

"She may be accompanied by a man, a tall rela- lively young man," continued Danton. "I'm anxious to learn of his fate, too."

"Yes," said the small girl. "Suppose I can't really see to—?"

"I suggest you go in the company of someone else," said Danton. "I'd be truly disappointed if you can't, should the necessity arise, settle this problem for me. However, if you absolutely can't . . . then you might recall to mind, at least, the fate of poor Carlos."

"That one again?"

"If it's the only way," said Danton. "In which event, please notify me. And you will then have to make arrangements . . . well, you do understand my meaning."

"Oh, sure," said Laura into the phone. "But let's put on a happy face and hope for the best. Bye."

She hung up, then made another call. The con- tent of this one, to any outsider, was even more

cryptic than the conversation with Chris Danton.

After thoroughly washing the flour from her hands and face, Laura went into her bedroom. Carefully, she slid the bed a foot to the left and knelt. By pressing a board in the hardwood floor in two places, she caused it to pop free. In the long trough below lay a rifle. And beneath that a small plastic bag full of white powder.

Laura took both these things with her when she left the cottage ten minutes later.

CHAPTER TEN

There was blackness all around him, a chill, engulfing blackness. Kicking with his powerful legs, (he Phantom shot upward through the water. He erupted up into heavy fog.

"Diana! Diana!" he called as he treaded water.

There was no answering cry.

He could only see a few feet in aiiy direction. Off to his right there was a faint orange glow, which must be the burning launch.

"Diana!" he called again.

A faint answer came from off in the fog.

He called her name once more, but got no reply this time. The Phantom began swimming in the direction the voice had come from. The mist clinging to the night sea swirled up as he passed through it.

"This is about the spot," he told himself after swimming a few yards.

The girl was not there.

The Phantom inhaled air through his mouth, then dived beneath the surface.

He circled through the cold darkness. Something brushed against his side.

Reaching out, the Phantom caught hold of the girl's wrist. He slipped one arm around her and pulled her up with him.

When her head was out of the water, Diana blinked. "I thought . . ." she said. "I thought I could . . . stay afloat. . . but—"

"Never mind," he told her. "Are you hurt?"

The girl thought. "Not physically injured I don't think," she answered. "But I feel awfully . . . worn out, I guess."

"Relax now," the Phantom said. "I'll get us back to the coast."

"It must be-miles and . . ." She stopped, then said, "Yes, I'm sure you can."

Holding her with one arm, the Phantom began swimming.

"I thought Chris—I didn't think he . . . wanted to kill me."

The Phantom did not reply.

"Kit," said Diana after a moment. "I hear something."

The masked man had heard it, too. "Sounds like a boat. Your friend Danton may have come out to make sure his booby-trap worked. Be ready to duck underwater if he passes close by."

The sound of the boat's motor grew louder behind the mist.

Diana took a deep breath and held it.

"Mr. Walker! Mr. Walker, are you around here anyplace?"

The Phantom grinned. "It's the curious Cap Nordling," he told the girl. "Yes, over here, Cap," he called.

"Who's Cap Nordling?" Diana asked.

"The man who's going to give us a lift home."

The lights of Nordling's craft caught them. "I been circling around out here," he said, killing the engine and bringing his boat up beside them. "Got to admit, I took to wondering what was going on over on San Obito. So I stuck around for a spell. When I heard that explosion, I said to myself, I bet that's Mr. Walker. I bet he borrowed one of them boats and—'" "Help her in." The Phantom lifted the dripping Diana up toward the boat.

"Evening, miss." Nordling got hold of both her hands and pulled her in. "My name's Cap Nordling. Usually on Sunday nights, I devote myself to viewing a private-eye show I'm fond of, but I-"

"We appreciate it," Diana said.

Nordling moved to a cabinet. "Yeah, here's one." He tossed her a large fish-patterned beach towel. "Dry off some."

The Phantom was climbing into the craft. "It would be a good idea to get back to land as soon as we can." j
_#

"Might be more explosions?" asked the fat boatman, starting his engine again.

"That's one possibility," replied the masked man.

Nordling looked him up and down. "I still got them clothes you left," he said. "Are you . . ." His voice trailed off.

"Yes?"

"I was going to ask why you was dressed up like that," Nordling said. "Decided it's none of my business."

They headed for the mainland.

Diana, with the borrowed towel round her shoulders, leaned back in the passenger seat of the Phantom's Alfa Romeo. "So Chris Danton put the keys in that launch," she said. "Figuring we'd then take the other one."

"A simple trick," said the Phantom. He was wearing his tan raincoat now and dark glasses. "I should have recognized it."

"It's all right," said the dark-haired girl. "We're back safe in Santa Barbara and I'm off that island. All's right with the world, more or less." She put her hand on his.

The Phantom headed the car into the hills. "Danton may make another try," he told the girl. "Once he finds out we weren't killed."

"As soon as we tell somebody about him," Diana said, "the whole business will be all over. I mean, they can raid San Obito and they'll find the secret rooms and so on."

"When we reach your uncle's, IH put through a call to a friend of mine up in San Francisco," said the Phantom. "He'll let me know who to contact here in Santa Barbara."